TO DR. MOORE , IN ANSWER TO A POETICAL EPISTLE WRITTEN TO ME BY HIM IN WALES , SEPTEMBER 1791. WHILE in long exile far from you I roam , To soothe my heart with images of home , For me , my friend , with rich poetic grace The landscapes of my native Isle you trace ; Her cultur'd meadows , and her lavish shades , The rivers winding through her lovely glades ; Far as where , frowning on the flood below , The rough Welsh mountain lifts its craggy brow . Meanwhile my steps have stray'd where Autumn yields A purple harvest on the sunny fields ; Where , bending with their luscious weight , recline The loaded branches of the clust'ring vine ; There , on the Loire's sweet banks , a joyful band Cull'd the rich produce of the fruitful land ; The youthful peasant , and the village maid , And age and childhood lent their feeble aid . The labours of the morning done , they haste Where in the field is spread the light repast ; The vintage-baskets serve , revers'd , for chairs , And the gay meal is crown'd with tuneless airs . Delightful land ! ah , now with gen'ral voice , Thy village sons and daughters may rejoice ; Thy happy peasant , now no more a slave , Forbad to taste one good that nature gave , No longer views with unavailing pain The lavish harvest , ripe for him in vain . Oppression's cruel hand shall dare no more To seize its tribute from his scanty store ; And from his famish'd infants wring the spoils , Too hard-earn'd produce of his useful toils ; For now on Gallia's plain the peasant knows Those equal rights impartial heav'n bestows ; He now , by freedom's ray illumin'd , taught Some self-respect , some energy of thought , Discerns the blessings that to all belong , And lives to guard his humble shed from wrong . Auspicious Liberty ! in vain thy foes Deride thy ardour , and thy force oppose ; In vain refuse to mark thy spreading light , While , like the mole , they hide their heads in night , Or hope their eloquence with taper-ray Can dim the blaze of philosophic day ; Those reas'ners , who pretend that each abuse , Sanction'd by precedent , has some blest use ! Does then a chemic power to time belong , Extracting by some process right from wrong ? Must feudal governments for ever last , Those Gothic piles , the work of ages past ? Nor may obtrusive reason dare to scan , Far less reform , the rude , mishapen plan ? The winding labyrinths , the hostile towers , Where danger threatens , and where horror lowers ; The jealous drawbridge , and the mote profound , The lonely dungeon in the cavern'd ground ; The sullen dome above those central caves , Where liv'd one despot and a host of slaves ? — Ah , Freedom , on this renovated shore That fabric frights the moral world no more ! Shook to its basis by thy powerful spell , Its triple walls in massy fragments fell ; While , rising from the hideous wreck , appears The temple thy firm arm sublimely rears ; Of fair proportions , and of simple grace , A mansion worthy of the human race . For me , the witness of those scenes , whose birth Forms a new era in the storied earth ; Oft , while with glowing breast those scenes I view , They lead , ah friend belov'd , my thoughts to you ! Still every fine emotion they impart With your idea mingles in my heart ; You , whom I oft have heard , with gen'rous zeal , With all that truth can urge , or pity feel , Refute the pompous argument , that tried The common cause of millions to deride ; With reason's force the plausive sophist hit , Or dart on folly the bright flash of wit ; And warmly share , with philosophic mind , The great , the glorious triumph of mankind .